Medieval
by Teshka
Summary: Doctor John Watson is sent home on "honorable discharge" to the capital where he meets a mysterious "deep thinker" Merlin…Just joking! His real name is Sherlock Holmes and he is a philosopher. How will Watson's life change the more time he spends with this philosopher? (A.N. I know it's huge, but it's worth the read! I promise :DD)


**Hello all! Wow has it been a loooong time since I've submitted something…D: School got in the way…and I was really really reeeeally lazy… **

**Well, this was commissioned by the wonderful and talented SallySorrell…in August *facepalm* I apologize profusely for how long it took me. As I said before, I had school and productions and…laziness… D:**

**But! It is done, and I personally think it's pretty great :D Feel free to leave constructive criticism, thoughts, anything below! **

**And now, before I bore you all to death, The Story! :D Enjoy!**

Doctor John Watson was returning from the battlefield on "honorable discharge". He despised the term. Basically, the war was telling him, "you're useless to us if you're injured, go nurse yourself at home."

He sat at the bar of the Inn he was staying in, nursing a tankard of mead and staring off into space. He noticed someone sit down next to him but he didn't know who it was, nor did he bother looking up. He took a drink from his tankard, but was pulled out of his reverie by a baritone voice asking, "Back from the war?"

John looked up at the man sitting next to him. It was then that he noticed the bartender standing awkwardly at the far end of the bar, and all of the people who had previously been in the establishment had either trickled out or moved to the far wall, near the door.

"Yeah. Is it really that obvious?"

"To the people who look, yes, but for the rest of the idiots, I have no idea."

"So then, you're one of the people who look?"

The man rolled his eyes, "Obviously. I'm a philosopher, or as the idiots like to call me, a 'deep-thinker'. I sit around in rooms all day surrounded by books and resources and think about things."

"That can't be very interesting." John commented.

"It is when people ask you difficult questions." The man answered, cagily.

"Do you have any difficult questions now?"

"No, sadly. And my most recent apprentice ran off. He stayed around the longest." The man sighed.

"How long did he stay?"

"Four hours."

John stared at the man disbelievingly. Four hours? And that was the longest time someone had spent with him? Why ever would they do that? This man seemed perfectly normal, if a bit smug sometimes.

"What's your name?" John asked the dark-haired man.

"Sherlock Holmes, though the idiots like to call me 'Merlin'." Mr. Holmes said the last term in disgust, his mouth twisting into a gruesome shape. "Yours?"

"Doctor John Watson."

"Well John, how about trying it out as my new apprentice?"

John contemplated for a moment, then replied, "I'll tell you ahead of time that I'm no deep-thinker, I'm probably one of the idiots to you."

Mr. Holmes chuckled and replied, "You're not as bad as ninety nine percent of the people in this city."

"So you do agree that I'm an idiot then?" John asked good-naturedly.

"Yes."

Now it was John's turn to chuckle, "Alright, I'll be your 'apprentice'. When do I start and where do I go?"

"You start now. Grab your things and follow me." Holmes looked at John expectantly, so John left his tankard behind, went up to his room and grabbed his things, and when he was back in the Common Room, he walked over to the philosopher and said, "I'll meet you outside, I have to go around and get my horse from the stables." Holmes huffed and strode out the doors without so much as a second glance.

John had to walk past the bar to get to the rear door, and as he did, the Innkeeper hurried over and muttered to him, "Stay away from Merlin, he's a bad sort he is, mad as a cock who crows at dusk." John looked over at the man, smiled, and continued on his way without saying a word.

Once in the stables, John set his bags down and tacked up his horse, then finished the process by placing his bags behind the saddle. He didn't worry about mounting, because he knew Mr. Holmes didn't have a horse and didn't think it would be fair to leave him behind.

He reached the front of the Inn and saw Holmes waiting for him.

"That took a long time, John." The philosopher commented.

"Well I'm sorry for being slow, Mr. Holmes, I'll try to rectify that in the future." John answered teasingly. Holmes chuckled and replied, "Please, call me Sherlock, Mr. Holmes sounds too formal. If you're going to be my apprentice, we don't need you being formal. Also, we're going to Baker Street in answer to your earlier question." John whistled through his teeth. Baker Street was where rich people lived. Or rather, the second street that rich people lived on. The first was for the super-rich, and Baker was for the lesser-rich. It was a strange city.

They arrived at 221 Baker Street, and John realized someone else lived there. In fact, there were three different houses in the same building. Sherlock led him to 221 B.

"You have a question, John. Say it."

"I have several, but I'll tell you the first one." Sherlock smirked, "If you live on the street where rich people live, why is it a share?" This time John got the man to chuckle, a deep resonating sound.

"I have a share on the 'rich people street' as you call it, because I cannot stand being in the lower town, the IQ is simply too low. Also, I know the landlady. Helped her a few years ago and she wasn't offended. Thank the maker for that."

At that point, John saw his new home and was astounded. It would have been luxurious quarters, but was extremely cluttered. There were piles of books, scrolls, manuscripts and loose sheets of paper. There was a telescope set up, it was pointing out the window, and the wind had blown things even more haphazard. There were candles on every available surface and some of the wax had even melted onto the paper. It didn't look like it was going to come off in the next ten years. There was also – a _skull?!_

"Is that a skull?" John asked, his eyes almost bugging out.

"Mm hmm, friend of mine." He looked at John who returned the look with one saying 'you're crazy', "Well I say friend…" Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. John simply shook his head, a smile playing on his features. Sherlock's face lit up at the reaction, taking heart when John didn't run for the hills. That's what many other apprentices had done. This was going to be very good; very good indeed.

John quickly got used to the life of Sherlock Holmes. The man spent most of his time poring over books, or staring at the sky, usually during broad daylight, to find interesting things to look at. He would play violin when he was frustrated or needed to concentrate, and John had gotten very good at telling Sherlock's moods simply by what the man was doing. For example, he would saw at his violin, making screeching sounds when he was angry, he would play classics when he was content or thinking, and if he wasn't playing, either something was wrong, or he was simply staring off into space thinking 'deep thoughts'. It was all quite exciting really.

Then there were the times when someone would haltingly walk through the door to ask Sherlock a question. Usually, it was a 'silly' question and Sherlock would send them away with a quick answer and insult. However, there were the times when he would get a more 'interesting' question and spend days sitting and thinking, sometimes running around the city to get more information. During these 'interesting' questions, Sherlock wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, wouldn't do a normal thing that people do. John was worried at first, but he gradually got used to it and Sherlock got used to having someone there to make sure he got at least an hour of sleep per day, and ate at least a piece of bread. Their relationship grew from tentative 'philosopher and apprentice' to 'trusted friend'. Of course, no one really noticed the changes beside John, but that didn't matter all that much, since Sherlock was changing, even if a little.

Two months after having met him, John was in the market buying food when the city's alarm bells clanged and a great shadow swooped over the buildings. When people looked up, they saw a dragon, but had a hard time believing it. Naturally, rumors spread like wildfire and soon the beast was larger than the tallest mountain and it had demolished half of the town.

John, being a knight, mastered his fear and stood his ground as the winged beast flew overhead. He paid for his purchase by placing the correct amount of coins on the counter, placed the food in his bag, and walked home through the chaos that had erupted. He helped several people not get trampled by grabbing an arm, lifting by the waist, or simply knocking other people aside so as not to kill anyone.

Once home, he walked in the door to find Sherlock staring out a window at the sky. This would have been normal, had the philosopher been looking through a telescope, but instead he was using his naked eye to see what was going on.

"Dragon over the town," John commented.

"I saw. Did it take anything?"

"Dunno, guess we'll have to wait and see."

"You're very calm."

"So're you."

Sherlock chuckled, "True. Very true." He turned from the window to look at John, "The dragon took the King."

John's eyes bugged and he stood there, gaping for a moment before gasping, "How do you know?"

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Sherlock muttered, "_He _wouldn't be here otherwise" as he went to open the door.

On the threshold stood a pudgy man with brown hair, brown eyes and a condescending demeanor. John disliked him immediately.

"Mycroft."

"Sherlock."

"Wait, you know each other? Who's this?" John interjected.

"John, this is my brother, Mycroft. Mycroft, this is my…apprentice, John." Came the stiff reply.

"I think we all know that he is more of a trusted friend than an apprentice dear brother." The man, Mycroft, sniffed and John and Sherlock stiffened slightly. "Now this is rather rude Sherlock, may I come in? Before someone notices where I am and why I'm here?" Sherlock stepped aside and Mycroft walked in, looking around, instantly judging everything.

When the door was closed, "The King was carried away." Sherlock's question was a statement. Mycroft didn't even turn.

"Yes."

"You need my help."

"Yes."

Sherlock sighed, "Who needs a King? We're better off without one anyway. He's useless, all he does is make taxes and look pretty, and he doesn't even pull the last one off very well." Mycroft turned to look at him outraged, and John gave him a look. At John's look, Sherlock was cowed and asked quietly, "Not good?"

John simply shook his head and replied, "No. Not good."

Mycroft was thunderous, "You're lucky no one else heard that, or they would have your head for treason." Sherlock grimaced at him.

"They've wanted to do that for years. What's stopped them before?"

Mycroft didn't reply and John thought the answer to Sherlock's question might have been standing on their rug just then.

"Will you help?" Mycroft easily changed the subject, but it didn't pass anyone's notice.

Sherlock sighed, "Fine." He looked to John, who nodded his head, a solemn look on his face. The philosopher grimaced again and walked over to the window he had been at and looked out. In his line of sight there was a tall mountain at the end of the valley the city was situated in. How obvious: the perfect spot for a dragon to stay. This was going to be too simple.

"I expect a report tomorrow afternoon. I'll come back then. Good day." And with that, Mycroft was gone. As the latch clicked behind the man, Sherlock turned to John and asked one thing, "Will you help?"

"Of course. What's the first step?"

"Tsk tsk John, you should know that by now. What do we know?"

"A dragon took the King, and we need to find him."

"A good start, but I was hoping for more. What do you see at the end of the valley?"

John didn't need to look, he knew what was there; he'd fought at its base enough to protect the city. "A mountain."

"Good. How does it compare to the rest?"

"It's larger," It dawned on John, "Large enough for a dragon and its hoard."

Sherlock gave him a grim smile and nodded.

The two men planned late into the night, the only sign that anyone was still awake in the building was a single candle and two forms huddled around it with papers strewn over the workspace.

The next day, Mycroft showed up promptly at half-past twelve to get their plans. He was surprised, but was convinced they would work. He had a great deal of faith in his little brother and companion. He gave his assent and left, not ten minutes after he'd come.

"Now, remind me who he is?"

"Really John, he's my brother."

"No, I get that, but why do I feel like I've heard of him before?"

"He is the King's one and only advisor. He's essentially the King in all but name. Everything the King does is by his 'suggestion' as he likes to call it. That's why I say the King is a puppet, but people don't like that." He said snarkily.

John was surprised, shocked even, and gaped at Sherlock until he heard the last complaint. At that, John simply chuckled darkly and shook his head, not bothering saying anything else on the subject.

"Should we leave? Mycroft agrees to what we're doing…"

Sherlock nodded slowly, "Yes…could you prepare the horses? I have a few things to do."

John shook his head. "You know I can't do that, I have as much if not more than you do to do. I've got to polish my armor and chainmail _and_ oil my boots. Not to mention I have to sharpen my sword."

Sherlock sighed, "You didn't do all of that when you came home? And is it really necessary to oil your boots? They're fine as they are. They must be comfortable enough, you wear them all of the time."

"Sherlock, it never hurts to polish armor, in fact it's good for it as it doesn't let it rust. I suppose I don't need to oil my boots, but I will sharpen my sword. Intellect doesn't always work unfortunately." With that statement, John disappeared. Sherlock sighed and set out to his task, which wasn't that difficult really, all he had to do was organize because it had been bothering him that his house was getting too messy.

Half an hour later, John returned. He wore leather trousers but had his greaves packed. He had his chainmail shirt on over a padded shirt, so as not to get rashes from rubbing. His chainmail had a hood that he would put on under his helmet, which was also packed. He had a breastplate thrown into the mix, and both shoulders and arms were covered in armor. His sword was belted at his hip, newly sharpened, and his shield was tied on to his pack, as it didn't fit inside, along with a bedroll tied to the top. He carried another sword and handed it to Sherlock.

"I know you know how to use this, don't be an idiot."

Sherlock accepted the weapon and replied, "I've packed food." John's shoulders relaxed at his words. One less thing he had to worry about.

"Honestly John, you dress like a woman; you take _forever_." Sherlock teased lightly.

John laughed, "You should have seen some of the other knights, they took two hours to do what I did in half an hour." Sherlock winced at the waste of time, and was immediately glad that John was efficient.

"The horses are all set. Shall we go?"

John nodded, and they left to rescue the King.

The dragon breathed on his pile of treasure. He was waiting. Taking the King had been too easy, and leaving a trail for the infamous philosopher was a cakewalk; he could have done it in his sleep.

It had been difficult yet easy to resist eating the King; he had no armor and was utterly defenseless. It seemed the rumors of him being a puppet King were at least partially true. The dragon snorted in disgust. How weak the race of men was. They had weak skin, weak bodies, and weak minds.

All except for the philosopher. He had a mind befitting of a dragon. He rumbled in delight, adrenaline beginning to course through his veins at the thought of facing off against a brilliant mind.

_Come to me, Sherlock Holmes, a test awaits you…_

Four hours. It took four bloody hours for Sherlock and John to reach the mountain. Once finally at the foot of the mountain, they looked up, searching for entrances. Sherlock scowled at the rocky crags while John remembered battles and tactics past.

Suddenly Sherlock pointed, "There."

John followed his finger and saw a dark spot in the stone face roughly halfway up the mountainside. He sighed, "Lead on then." He dismounted, knowing the higher they went the harder it would be for the horses to ascend. He tied the reins to his horse's saddle, loose enough so it could graze while he ascended the mountain. He looked at Sherlock expectantly and the philosopher sighed, dismounting as well and tying the reins back.

"I suppose you should lead then, you know this territory better than I do."

John smirked grimly and nodded, not questioning that Sherlock knew that bit of information without John having to tell him.

They began their trek up the mountain and when they were about one hundred meters away from the base of the mountain, John swore he felt something stirring below him in the mountain. He looked back to Sherlock to see if he felt the same way and the dark haired man nodded solemnly, "We're in the right place."

John nodded, setting his jaw, before continuing to the opening roughly five hundred meters ahead.

When they were about ten meters from the opening into the mountain John turned, "Sherlock, we need a plan."

The philosopher looked up the slope to him, then shifted his gaze to the opening. His eyes unfocused as he contemplated.

Suddenly, he came back to reality, "The dragon wanted to lure someone out. Us? Most likely. Let's narrow it down between the two of us a little more. You're a knight and I'm a philosopher. There's a dragon in there with a massive intellect. He'll want someone to mentally spar with, so let's assume he's more interested in me. If we assume that then we know that I should do most of the talking and if you see anything you don't like then you dash in." Sherlock looked at John expectantly, seeming to think the plan was set.

"Sherlock, you're forgetting something." The dark haired man's brain processed what he could be forgetting until John stopped him, "The King is in there. We have to save him first. Remember?"

Sherlock's face subtly changed to that of disappointment but kept up his façade, "Of course. I distract the dragon with my mind and you save the King. You're a hero and everyone loves you."

John looked at the dark haired man quietly, assessing Sherlock's level of upset. When he determined it was alright for who he was, he continued, "Right then, we should get going to defeat that dragon."

Sherlock brightened slightly but still seemed to have storm clouds over his face. As he followed John, he felt a strange emotion running through his veins: trepidation. It was new to him, but he had the sense to realize it was because of the impending battle with the dragon that he was unsteady. He stumbled on a rock and John reached back to steady him in what seemed to be an automatic maneuver.

Good to know John was looking out for him.

He mentally shook himself, trying to get himself to focus on the job at hand. He took a deep breath and followed John into the mountain.

The hallway they entered was wide enough for two, which was honestly surprising as the mountain was a dragon's home and dragons don't need human-sized passages, but Sherlock didn't want to clutter his brain with the details. He looked at the dragon again in his mind's eye, assessing size and from that, its age and from there decided the possible intellect of the creature. Judging from the information he had gathered, the beast would be extremely intelligent and therefore very difficult to defeat. He ran through a mental script of sorts of how he wanted things to go. He only hoped they'd work out alright.

"John, maybe I should lead the way in. That will also give both of us time to ascertain the location of the King so we can get him out faster and safer. Based on how perceptive the dragon is and how soon he sees me, I'll try to keep his attention on me while you release the King."

"Sounds good. Be careful, I think we're almost there."

Sherlock nodded silently, lengthening his stride so he was walking a few steps in front of John. The tunnel had steadily gotten warmer as it sloped downward into the mountain, and he could clearly see bright light ahead of them. He stepped from the almost-dark of the tunnel to the light of the cavern and looked around quickly, assessing what he saw. The cavern was roughly half the size of the mountain itself, leading him to believe that there were more rooms carved into the mountain. There must have been banquet halls, maybe barracks as humans had hollowed the mountain and begun construction before the dragon moved in. His eyes stopped when they saw the dragon. He had forgotten it was so large. Compared to the sky, the dragon had looked almost toy-like. That observation was false.

It was a massive red thing that covered half of the floor when it was laid out. Its breaths sounded like a thunderstorm in the enclosed space and its claws were as long as he was tall and most likely three times wider than he was at the junction between the claws and the toes they were attached to. John got a glimpse of the beast around Sherlock's shoulder and gasped quietly.

Sherlock turned to him, "You'll need to go out the entrance here and go immediately right, hugging the wall. There's another opening on the other side of the cavern near the dragon's tail that may house the King. Go in, find him, bring him here and—"

"Use my judgment from there. Yes, I know. Now go before he hears us." John stated quickly.

Sherlock nodded and stepped out, approaching the head of the beast. He saw John quickly slip around the room from his periphery. He saw John enter the other room before he began talking to the dragon in front of him.

"Hello you. I know you can hear me, so I'll talk in a normal voice at you until you decide to grace me with your attention. My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am here to stop you from doing…anything else to the people in the capital." He would have continued had a deep rumbling not startled him, not that he'd admit it, and it took him a moment to realize the rumbling was the dragon laughing. It opened its eyes first and then proceeded to raise its head and shift its massive form so it was sitting, staring at him with amusement dancing in its eyes.

"Oh Sherlock, we both know you don't care a thing about the people in the capital. In fact, if one Doctor John Watson wouldn't have walked into the pub that day you would still be going through apprentices like water. You can't fool me, Sherlock."

"How do you know that?" Sherlock asked quietly.

The dragon laughed again, "Because I have exceptional hearing and there is only one human of actual interest in that ridiculous city: _you_." At the last word, a gale of hot air tore at Sherlock, buffeting him and making him perspire. He looked at his pores, disgusted. "Now, since we have that out of the way, I suppose I should tell you my name. I am Moriarty. Where I came from and my backstory are unimportant, I don't think you would care anyway. So, shall we begin our game as Johnny Boy walks the King out of the mountain?"

Sherlock's eyes widened and darted to where he had been monitoring John's process with the seemingly injured King. John heard what Moriarty said, it was difficult not to in the enclosed space, and met Sherlock's worried glance with a determined set of his mouth as if to say, _Don't worry about me, beat him._ Sherlock nodded and John continued his progress to the opening to the outside.

Once they were in the passage, Sherlock turned back to Moriarty to see the dragon had put his massive head on his legs again, so as to be able to see Sherlock better.

"What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries?" Moriarty asked.

Sherlock was surprised, "Riddles?"

"Wrong answer. Too many wrong answers and the passage gets blazed." A trail of smoke exited one nostril.

Sherlock stiffened, "A towel. I can run but not walk. Wherever I go, thought follows close behind. What am I?"

"A nose. What force and strength cannot get through I with a gentle touch can do, and many in the street would stand were I not a friend at hand."

"A key. Only one color, but not one size, stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies, present in sun, but not in rain, doing no harm, and feeling no pain."

"A shadow. Really Sherlock, is this all you have?"

Sherlock replied, speaking slower so as to get the riddle right the first time, "Five pirates are parting ways after finding a treasure of 100 pieces of gold. The pirates decide to split it based on a vote. Each pirate, from oldest to youngest, gets to propose a plan on how to split the gold. If at least 50 percent of the other remaining pirates agree on the plan, that is how they will split the gold. If less than 50 percent of the pirates agree, the pirate who came up with the plan will be thrown overboard. Each pirate is smart, greedy, and wants to throw as many others overboard as possible without reducing the amount of gold they get. What plan can the first, oldest, pirate propose to live and get as much gold as possible?"

Moriarty smiled, "Allow me to think for a moment?"

Sherlock nodded quietly and adjusted his stance minutely to be more comfortable standing.

Several minutes passed before the dragon replied, "He can propose a plan where he gets 98 pieces of gold, the third pirate gets one piece and the fifth pirate gets one as well. If there were just two pirates the younger pirate would definitely deny the plan so he could get all of the gold. If there were three pirates the first pirate could offer the second pirate one piece of gold and take the rest himself because the second pirate wouldn't get anything if he has to propose a plan himself. If there were four pirates the first pirate would take 99 for himself and offer one to the youngest pirate. They would both agree. If the youngest disagreed then he wouldn't get any gold in the next plan. So when there are five pirates it is in the interest of the third and fifth pirate to accept one piece, because if they don't they won't get anything in the next plan. That was good. Now, gather your wits."

Sherlock looked at him curiously but dusted his mind palace nonetheless.

"A king has no sons, no daughters and no queen. For this reason he must decide who will take the throne after he dies. To do this he decides that he will give all of the children of the kingdom a single seed. Whichever child has the largest, most beautiful plant will earn the throne, this being a metaphor for the kingdom. At the end of the contest all of the children come to the palace with their enormous and beautiful plants in hand. After he looks at all of the children's pots, he finally decides that the little girl with an empty pot will be the next Queen. Why did he choose this little girl over all of the other children with their beautiful plants?"

Sherlock walked through his mind palace, looking for a solution. He found a slate and chalked the riddle onto the black. He opened safes in the walls to observe different ideas, eventually deciding on his answer. When he was sure it was the right one, he exited his palace.

"The king gave them all fake seeds and the little girl was the only honest child who didn't switch the seeds." Sherlock sighed, "For telling me to gather my thoughts that wasn't very difficult.

"A man has three daughters who are all unmarried. The youngest always lies, the oldest always tells the truth and the one in the middle either tells the truth or lies. A very rich young man comes to the father's house and says he wants to marry one of his daughters. Naturally he wants to marry the oldest or the youngest so he will always know if she is lying or telling the truth. The father agrees but says he can only ask one of the girls a yes or no question to decide which one he marries. They all look the same age. What one question does he ask one of the daughters at random to figure out which daughter is the youngest or oldest?"

Moriarty retreated into himself again, but for a shorter period of time. Finally, "He would ask one of the daughters if one of the other daughters is older than the last daughter. He always should pick the younger daughter based on what he knows. If he asks the older daughter and she says yes, then the youngest daughter will be known. If he asks the older daughter and she says no, then the youngest daughter is the other one. If he asks the younger daughter and she says yes, she is lying and he will still pick the oldest. If he asks the youngest and she says no, he will just pick the other like in the first case. If he asks the middle daughter it doesn't matter because both will be acceptable choices."

Sherlock gave him a grudging nod. He was getting slightly tired of how good the dragon was. Not that it was a surprise, simply annoying.

Moriarty smirked at Sherlock's impatience, "Last one Sherly, I promise."

Sherlock glared at the nickname.

"A poor man is sitting in a pub. He sees that the man next to him is extremely rich. The poor man says, "I have an amazing talent; I know almost every song that has ever existed." The rich man laughs. The poor man continues, "I am willing to bet you all the money you have in your wallet that I can sing a popular song that includes a lady's name of your choosing." The rich man laughs again and says, "Okay, how about my daughter's name, Joanna Armstrong-Miller?" The poor man goes home rich. What song did he sing?"

Sherlock searched his mind palace once again for a popular song that would contain Joanna Armstrong-Miller. He came up with a few songs with single names in them, but none with all three names. He became slightly worried and opened every safe in the wall, looking in all of the nooks and crannies to find the answer to the riddle.

While Sherlock sweated, Moriarty began chuckling, breaking Sherlock's concentration. Moriarty heaved his gargantuan mass up, standing. He stomped over to the opening of the passage, readying flames to jet into the small rock pathway.

"No!" Sherlock yelled, taking a few steps forward before he saw a small movement by the dragon's chest, between Moriarty's front legs.

_John_.

Moriarty exhaled all of his air, readying a large breath of fire but never let the jet of flames loose.

John yelled, "Happy Birthday!" and thrust his sword into Moriarty's chest, piercing the dragon's massive heart. He ran quickly toward Sherlock from the river of blood he had unleashed.

Moriarty roared in pain, belching fire as he reared up. However, his rear legs gave out and he sagged and fell toward the area John and Sherlock were standing in. They ran toward a wall of the cave, bolting for the passage.

Moriarty was still roaring behind them, but he was clearly in his death throes and would not last long. Once inside the passage, John reached out into the darkness, apologizing before pulling the King to run with them. Sherlock didn't question why the King was still there.

They ran out of the mountain as fast as they could, not looking back or slowing even when they were safely outside. They saw their horses running for the capital, not surprising as they had most likely bolted when Moriarty began roaring if not before then when he had been laughing.

They finally stopped running when they reached the base of the mountain, sure they were finally completely safe from whatever might pour out of the passage they had run through. They stood, bent over, trying to get their breath back as Sherlock asked, "Why did you yell Happy Birthday?"

John looked at him as if he was stupid. It was an annoying look, "Because that's the answer to the riddle. Happy Birthday is a song everyone sings, therefore it's popular. It is also the only song, that I know of, that a person can add anyone's name to and will fit perfectly."

"…I see…" He catalogued the riddle and answer into his mind palace. "By the way, stop looking at me like that."

John looked at him bewildered, "What? Look at you how?"

"Like I'm stupid." Sherlock pouted slightly.

John laughed as he straightened, taking a deep breath. "That's how you look at me every day. Welcome to my world." Then, seeming to remember their company, the smile fell from his face and he quickly composed himself, bowing to the King, "I apologize for how I acted in the passage Sire."

The King smiled and shook his head, "There is nothing to apologize for, Doctor Watson. You saved my life and I thank you for it."

John bowed again, looking slightly flustered as Sherlock straightened and looked toward the city.

"We should leave now, it will be nightfall when we reach the city as it is."

John chuckled at Sherlock and whistled two short blasts. The philosopher looked questioningly at the former knight until he felt the rumble in the earth. He looked to the source and saw their two horses running back.

"Warfront steeds learn to come when they're called, no matter what they've run from. Otherwise, they run home. That way, when men die in battle we don't lose good horses."

"What if they're taken by the opposition?"

The horses trotted up to them and John patted his replying, "We don't get all of them back, but the hope is that they'll fight their way back home if need be."

Sherlock mounted John's steed as he digested the information. The King took his mount and John pulled himself up behind Sherlock as they would need to trot to get home, and John was the more experienced rider.

They turned home and had a silent ride, the King occasionally turning to look at the two men who had saved his life: a discharged knight and the city's "insane man". His Majesty had a better idea of how 'insane' Sherlock really was after the most recent incident and smiled to himself.

Once back in the capital, John and Sherlock escorted the King to the castle where Mycroft was waiting. When the doors opened the trio saw Mycroft attempting to wear a hole in the floor with his pacing.

"Mycroft, stop ruining the floor and look." Sherlock said impatiently. The King gave him a side-glance, reading the unhappiness in his expression when faced with his older brother. He chuckled quietly so only John heard him. John followed his line of sight and chuckled himself.

Mycroft turned and looked to his younger brother, clearly about to reprimand him in some form until he saw the King standing confidently between Sherlock and John. A look of extreme relief crossed Mycroft's face as he rushed forward. He stopped in front of them and bowed, "So glad to have you back your Majesty."

The King chuckled good-naturedly, "Oh stop Mycroft, you would have done fine without me. It is well-known that I am essentially your mask for running this kingdom."

Mycroft stood, attempting to make excuses but the King simply waved a hand and strode to a door behind his throne. Mycroft followed behind, pretending not to be as flustered as he really was.

John chuckled at the sight, "You know, Mycroft may be the puppet master, but the King is the only one who can shut him up. He's got Mycroft as wrapped around his finger as he's wrapped around Mycroft's."

Sherlock simply nodded.

John looked over, "Oh stop it with the stony look, your brother's gone. Relax a little." Sherlock didn't move. "Oh alright, let's go home." He turned and walked back out the doors, patting Sherlock's shoulder on the way.

The End

**Once again, hate to be that guy, but feel free to review your thoughts and constructive criticism! I hope you enjoyed their adventure, I know I did! ^_^**


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